


Generalisations

by entanglednow



Category: Being Human
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-21
Updated: 2010-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which George makes assumptions and Mitchell reacts</p>
            </blockquote>





	Generalisations

  
They end up in Mitchell's room.

Mostly because it doesn't have a cage in it.

Mitchell could probably have pretended to be disturbed about it. He's done a lot of 'pretending to be disturbed' and he understands how it's easier for a peaceful life, even if it is sometimes exhausting. But, since George is genuinely disturbed at the thought of having sex with someone while in the same room as something that may or may not look like a sex cage to the outside world, he doesn't have to bother.

Also Mitchell's bed is more comfortable.

"You're not going to get all excited and -" George gestures in a way Mitchell's fairly sure is supposed to convey some sort of general biting theme.

Mitchell raises an eyebrow anyway, like he's confused. Because it's _always_ more fun to make George say things.

"What?"

George sighs.

"You're not going to bite me," he says flatly; in that vaguely embarrassed way he has when the situation probably doesn't call for it. George seems to like being embarrassed so much he makes up his own reasons to be.

"I wasn't planning on it," Mitchell says slowly. "No more than the usual to-be-expected biting when you're having sex with someone."

"That would be an acceptable biting," George allows.

"You're not going to bite _me_ are you," Mitchell says, with mock suspicion and George pulls a face like he knows he's being mocked.

"I'll try to control myself."

"I never said you had to do that," Mitchell says easily.

George certainly does a very good job of controlling himself the next time Mitchell kisses him. He just leaves his mouth half open and shudders out a groan every time Mitchell's tongue slides over his own.

Mitchell kind of likes George drunk and stupid on lust. It's a good look for him. He pulls George's belt out of his jeans and tosses it over his shoulder. It lands somewhere on the carpet, buckle first with a 'clank.'

George shivers out a breath, makes a noise that's half hungry and half terrified when Mitchell's thumbs barely skid across his bare hipbones.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to George. It's not like the Olympics, there won't be special medals awarded if you do very well," Mitchell tells him.

"I don’t expect medals," George says awkwardly, distracted away from the drift and push of Mitchell's thumbs. "I just don't have a lot of experience with there being more than one penis in a room."

Mitchell can't do anything else but laugh at that.

"I mean in a sexual context, obviously," George clarifies. "I don't have experience with their being homosexual dynamics."

"You make it sound like a university course," Mitchell says through a grin. "Are you saying you didn't take homosexual dynamics George?"

"And now you're making fun of me," George protests in that adorable half-sulky tone of voice.

Mitchell drags him in by his belt loops and presses a kiss against the pout of his mouth.

"I promise, no _advanced_ homosexual dynamics."

George feels like he wants to fidget and complain, or possibly to protest about Mitchell mocking him _again._ But Mitchell has advanced from his hipbones and the shallow of his stomach to the button of his jeans and George's breath has gone all shaky and wet.

"And you can say stop whenever you want."

"That's easy for you to say. You're not finding this completely overwhelming. You've done all of this before. You're probably done everything," George says, in that throwaway tone of voice like it's obvious.

Mitchell's fingers go still.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he says stiffly.

"Well y'know you're a - you're a very old and experienced man."

Mitchell glares at him.

"You were going to say vampire," he accuses.

"I was not," George says hotly, and he's very clearly lying the filthy lies of a liar. Mitchell can tell by the way he looks guilty, and confused, and like he's about to either make up some outrageous new lie or confess all.

"You were," Mitchell says, and alright, maybe half his offence is feigned because it's a gross generalisation. Even if maybe it is a little bit true.

George winces.

"Well there's a certain level of acceptance that vampires are sexual creatures. I just assumed you were..."

"A sinkhole of depravity," Mitchell finishes.

"I never said that, I never, I wouldn't have called you a _sinkhole,_ " George says stridently.

Mitchell slides his hands into the waistband of George's jeans, holds it tight, uses it to press George back into the pillows. He spreads his legs around his thighs, leaning into him, into the stiff line of his dick, denim shifting in one soft noise.

"Maybe you like the idea George? The idea that you can do pretty much whatever you like to me."

"Mitchell," George says breathlessly and it sounds nothing like a protest. His hands lift, slide on Mitchell’s bare skin then curl round his waist.

"That I won't say no if you want to fuck me. If that's what you need, that I'll just roll over and spread my legs."

"Oh, God, Mitchell, shut up," George says desperately

"Is that what you want, George? You want to spread my legs and hold me down and fuck me?"

Mitchell rolls his hips forward, one hard shift of movement.

George makes a messy noise in his throat and digs his fingers into Mitchell’s waist, pulls him in tighter. He presses up, a shift-push that makes a breath choke out of him.

"You could go as hard as you like you know. Bury your hand in my hair and push my head down and just fucking _use_ me."

"Oh, Jesus -"

George stills, pressed so hard into Mitchell he can feel it all the way down to the bone. He buries his face in Mitchell's neck and shakes.

Mitchell's aware, with a certain level of smugness, that George has just come inside his jeans. There's a ragged embarrassed blast of hot air into his neck.

"You bastard," George manages. Mitchell doesn't think he's ever heard a curse sound so heartfelt or so much like an orgasm before.

"Consider it payback for the 'sinkhole of depravity,'" Mitchell says carefully.


End file.
